


Lost And Found

by bianoyami (poeticalcreation)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Dark and Twisted, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Morrismith, No generators were harmed during the creation of this fic, One Shot, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25492357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poeticalcreation/pseuds/bianoyami
Summary: Quentin finds himself in yet another trial, and after briefly scouting the area turns hisattention to a rather secluded house and the generator there.He's so preoccupied with his efforts to fix it that he doesn't notice the other presenceentering the building, about to turn things upside down.Just like so many times before.But then again, was the fondness between a killer and a survivor ever supposedto be anything else but upside down?. . .A Morrismith shortfic based on that stupid "Are you lost, baby girl?" TikTok meme,only turned serious and dark, set in the Dead by Daylight universe.Contains hints of personal headcanons about the characters and their shared dynamics.
Relationships: Frank Morrison/Quentin Smith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	Lost And Found

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this idea started out as a mere 4-Tweet-thread on my Twitter.  
> But then my head spun it further and this happened. Oops.
> 
> It wasn't supposed to turn into a story, so I might have half-assed it a bit. It is also not beta-read,  
> and English isn't my first language. With this in mind, don't expect overly complicated, high quality writing :')
> 
> Please note: This fanfic features a _KILLER/SURVIVOR relationship!_  
>  There's no kind of non-con involved - not even in my headcanons - but I understand this isn't everyone's cup of tea either way.  
> Which is fine. But if that's the case for you, I ask you to just follow the generally given advice of _don't like - don't read_.
> 
> To all the others: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Quentin cautiously peered around the corner of his hiding spot, and waited.

Nothing.

Nestled close against the lush bush of roses he stayed low for a couple more heartbeats with rising apprehension - just to be sure - and when he deemed his surroundings safe finally sneaked into the dilapidated house.

The generator he was looking for wasn’t hard to find. In fact, it was right there.

On the ground floor.

In the middle of the open hallway.

He muttered under his breath and sarcastically congratulated himself for always finding the perfect ambush spots.

To top it off, this generator seemed to be one of the more isolated ones from what he’s seen of the environment so far. He couldn’t sense anyone nearby, either, so it was unlikely there’d be any help if he happened to get into a hazardous situation.

Oh well. Nothing risked, nothing gained.

With this mindset he knelt down and started tinkering. Slowly but surely the engines came back to life, and soon the rumbling noises were loud enough that they almost made Quentin’s ears pop due to his proximity to the source.

It did nothing to deter him from his task, however, and he continued on with a stubborn focus. He needed to assemble all the parts carefully and correctly, not blow the entire thing sky-high. Unfortunately, all of this concentration also made it easy to miss signs of imminent trouble.

Say... the brief creaking of the old floorboards a few meters behind him.

Quentin didn't have any time to prepare himself for the cold steel that appeared seemingly out of nowhere to graze his throat. He felt the knife pressing against his Adam’s apple and a whisper of warmth drift across the back of his neck.

His body went rigid and his hands stopped just in the middle of connecting the last two, stray wires.

There was a deep, sultry sigh. Then, lips at his ear.

"Are you lost, baby boy?"

He held his breath.

 _Oh_ , that voice...

He hadn't heard it in so, so long—

No. Wait.

Was it weeks ago that they last met... or just a day or two?

He could never wrap his head around it; flowing in mysterious ways, time was an odd construct in the realms of the Entity. It served to confuse more than it created order.

But what he absolutely _did_ know: He had missed him.

Terribly. No matter the time.

Even though he could still feel the phantom blade between his ribs from their last encounter. Which, when he thought about it, spoke for the possibility that really not much time could've passed.

He allowed himself to relax and closed his eyes. Then he shifted slightly and leaned into the firm body behind him, a short and airy chuckle falling from his lips as he replied,

"No, not anymore. You've found me."

And before Quentin even knew what was happening he was swiftly pulled away from his generator, spun around, and pushed against the rattling machine. Bent over backwards, he ended up lying on top of it as well as chest to chest with the other man who pressed in even closer.

Honestly, he could think of more comfortable and spine-friendly places than this.

But over a scarred, slightly crooked nose a pair of familiar auburn eyes was looking down at him, an amused glint dancing within them.

And suddenly all protest was chased out of his head and nothing else mattered.

"Good one, Quen. Good one..."

A mouth on his. Greedy kisses. An aggressive tongue parting his lips, deepening the caresses until they both were taking the air straight from each other's lungs.

So intense. So many things said.

But it wasn't long to last, and the moment faded far too soon. Frank reverently touched his forehead to Quentin's as he came down from this too short high, and when he eventually caught his breath he spoke slowly, to make sure Quentin understood every single word. His heated gaze was piercing, emphasizing the message he had.

"Listen. I don't... wanna see you... again... for at least 20 minutes from now."

Quentin's heart skipped a beat.

Right... Of course. They weren't here just because.

There were things that had to be done.

There were survivors to hunt.

But Quentin didn't panic, wasn't even really afraid.

There was one thing that differentiated him from the others in a time like this. A special luxury that only he had.

The luxury of having heart and soul of this killer in front of him.

Granted, even that couldn't always save him. He wasn't generally exempt from how the trials were supposed to go; the Entity would never tolerate it. It was just that, sometimes, when Frank sensed that the sinister deity was overall pleased enough for the time being, he was able to give Quentin a free pass.

Which usually ended with Quentin on his back, bruised and bloodied and filthily _fucked_ , or - on less frequent occasions - with him wrapping his fingers around Frank’s throat as he rode him into the sunset with abandon. Untamed and free—

  
. . .

_Fuck me up..._

_\- Gladly._

_Break me._

_\- Your wish is my command._

_Make me yours!_

_\- You’ve always been._

**_WORSHIP ME!_ **

**_\- Until the day I die._ **

. . .  
  
  


—until the cycle had to come to an end and they were torn from each other once more.

Uncharacteristically gentle, Frank caressed Quentin's cheeks and the darkened skin under his eyes – a testimony of too many sleepless nights and too little inner peace – and in return Quentin pushed back Frank's hood to run his fingers through rugged strands of blond hair - softer to the touch than it looked - offering comfort.

A calm breeze of quiet affection before the impending violent storm.

Quentin nodded, and Frank separated himself from his partner.

"I guess I’ll just be… what? Hiding somewhere, then?" Quentin said with a nearly impassive voice.

God, he hated this.

"Yeah. And don't you dare"—Frank stepped around him and gave the generator a brutal kick—"touch any of these again, you hear me?"

He flinched at the sound of something breaking inside the metal casing.

Well, rest in pieces. Literally.

"...yeah. Gotcha."

"Quen—"

"I heard you!"

He'd never not hate it; Frank and him - all these people here, really - being nothing more than fate’s playthings, forced to abide by this world’s laws, unable to ever actually break free from these never-ending cycles of pointless killing and futile revival.

The side they belonged to ultimately didn't matter, either, because most of them would meet _some_ sort of insanity sooner or later.

A game of kill or be killed - over and over and over...

If there was a way to end all this, they had yet to find it.

The thought of this making up the biggest part of what their reality had become never failed to leave Quentin bitter.

"Now go. Do what you have to do."

The air between them was tense. A long moment of silence passed where the two tried to read each other and figure out what the other one was thinking. Feeling.

Until Frank eventually sighed.

"Fine."

With a grim expression he turned to leave and pulled out his trademark mask from the inside of his jacket. He put it on and pulled up his hood as he made his way towards the unhinged house door, but then stopped short in his tracks.

He placed a hand above his heart and inhaled deeply.

"Quentin, I—"

But he bit his tongue to stop himself. Thinking better of it and putting whatever was on his mind aside for now, he lightly shook his head.

"Nevermind. I will find you."

Oh, Quentin was sure he would. Because after all, despite what it sounded like, this wasn't just some sort of petty threat.

This was an oath. An oath they had made to each other a long time ago, carved into each other's palms.

It was a cursed promise, they knew. But at least it was theirs. They wouldn't let anyone... anything... take it from them.

And so, Quentin watched Frank disappearing into the darkness, with only the pathetic stuttering of a broken generator left to keep him company.

He ran a hand across his face, tilted his head back, and watched the flickering lights at the ceiling with a sense of numbness.

Broken.

Everything here was broken. As were they, themselves.

He laughed lowly to himself, but had enough rationality left to cut himself off before it got too much and he escalated.

Before he lost himself in some crazy mental haze that even Frank's voice couldn't penetrate easily.

It happened a few times in the past, and he didn't want to recall _those_ instances.

He stared into the empty air for a little longer before he eventually decided to retreat to the building’s basement for a while. He slid down the walls and let his head hang low between his knees, throwing his arms over himself in an attempt to block out the cries of his fellow survivors. Some faint, some uncomfortably close.

And if, at one point, he passively watched through the vents of a locker as one of them was impaled on one of the hooks and taken away by the Entity’s claws, no one had to know.

No one but the man who briefly paused at the top of the staircase afterwards to look over his shoulder and stare down at Quentin as if those rusty doors between them didn’t exist, the broad grin on his mask ever-so-taunting, the scarlet drops falling from his hunting knife ever-so-reminiscent of the sins they both committed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my friend for showing me the funny reaction videos someone made about the  
> aforementioned TikTok meme, thereby igniting a creative spark and inspiring me to write something.
> 
> Of course it had to be Morrismith, because those two are a godforsaken mess and we love that shit.
> 
> This fic is for you. A small tribute to your lovely, chaotic mind.  
> You know who you are ♥


End file.
